


Skill Set

by sadsparties



Category: Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Gen, Halloween
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-20
Updated: 2014-10-20
Packaged: 2018-02-21 22:07:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2484029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadsparties/pseuds/sadsparties
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras discovers yet another one of Combeferre's many interests.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Skill Set

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Oilan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oilan/gifts).



> Written for tumbler's Les Mis Trick or Treat Exchange.

“So...”

Enjolras gestured at the display before him. He was not entirely sure what happened. He had gone for a quick trip to the printers, telling Combeferre that when he returned they would begin planning this new project that Courfeyrac had thrusted upon them. Then, he returned.

“Yes,” Combeferre said.

Enjolras felt satisfied with this response. After all, it was not his responsibility, nor was it Combeferre’s duty, to inform him of his many latent talents. Enjolras knew that he was deadly with a rifle, accurate with a drawing stick, sharp with his memory, but for this particular skill set concerning... cuisine, he was caught unawares. He thought no matter of it, and merely gave an approving nod of the head.

“Shall I get candles then?

“Hmmm?”

“To complete the effect.”

Combeferre’s eyes lit up as he grasped his meaning. “Oh, yes. Please.”

Enjolras went to his bedroom and looked for the spare candles in his closet. Finding none, he bent down to check the trunk beneath his bed. At the corner of his vision, he saw Combeferre hovering over the dais erected at the middle of their living room. Another improvisation of his, most likely. Enjolras was too taken aback to notice if the platform was made of his own books or of Combeferre’s beakers. 

He came back with two stubs of candles and lit them over the fireplace. Combeferre lifted the lid of the lantern, and Enjolras deftly placed the candles in the middle. Once settled, they both stared in awe at the haunting effect.

“So.”

“Hmm?”

“Do they carve apples back in Poitiers?”

At Combeferre’s perplexed look, Enjolras added, “How else could you make jack o’ lanterns of this detail in half an hour?”

Realizing that the question was sincere, Combeferre chuckled. Wrinkles formed around his eyes as they caught the dim glow of the candles. 

“You forget that I wield a lancet,” he said. “It is not the ideal practice for surgery, but I know my way with a knife should the occasion arise.”

Enjolras mouthed an “ah”, and at the solving of that particular puzzle, he turned his attentions to the actual result of Combeferre’s skill set. He nodded to the lantern.

“Are those molars then?

“Incisors,” Combeferre said, “of the Irish wolf hound.”

“And that is... fur.”

“Yes.”

“And those...”

“The pupil of the eyes. I thought I might as well be detailed.”

“Ah.”

Enjolras nodded once more, and as the shadows outside grew longer, he silently thanked Providence that their entry this year would not be so bleak.


End file.
